


Gomez, The Mama's Boy

by MelodicSunshine



Category: Addams Family (TV 1964), Addams Family - All Media Types
Genre: Anger, Childhood, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27753262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodicSunshine/pseuds/MelodicSunshine
Summary: Weird dreams about his own mother leads Gomez to confide in a psychiatrist. He wishes he didn't.
Relationships: Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams
Kudos: 16





	Gomez, The Mama's Boy

Perry Horvitz had been a therapist for two years, going onto his third. Throughout his work experiences, he had seen many clients, and heard many stories. He had thought himself used to strange people walking through his door, demanding advice or solutions to their problems, whether miniscule or life-shattering. But now, as he mindlessly stirred his cold coffee and glanced over to the man on the sofa, he figured that this may very well be his most unusual client yet.

His name was Gomez Addams, as he so boisterously proclaimed the second he walked into the office. Horvitz noticed his attire, a clean straight navy suit, and figured he was a businessman, or a man of political power. He smirked to himself, figuring this would be an easy job. He had listened to many CEOs and entrepreneurs, most of them having the same problems. Work-related stress, money troubles, maybe playing a little hanky panky with the secretary behind their wife’s back. He could deal with an hour of financial humble-bragging and giving help wherever needed.

But when he asked him a simple ‘How was your day?’ he realized that he had his work cut out for him. This man was a complete motor mouth, and had been spurring on for the past fifteen minutes about whatever he pleased, all in between puffs from his cigar. The therapist only sat there, praying he’d at least get paid for this one-sided conversation.

“Y’know, it’s pretty funny that you work as a shrink. I actually have a Cousin Shrink who lives not too far from here.”

“Oh,” Horvitz replied, relieved that he finally had a chance to speak. “Is he a therapist as well?”

“No, we called him Shrink because he was a real shrimp of a lad.”

“He was really short?”

“Yep. A couple hours in the dryer and he could barely reach the dinner table.”

He rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for jokes. “Please, sir. Let’s focus on why you’re here.”

“Oh yeah, that!” He exclaimed, as if that wasn’t the sole reason he was sitting there in the first place. “Well, you see, I’ve been having the strangest dreams about my mother. I don’t remember much about them, but I remember that she’s always in them in some way.”

Horvitz scribbled a few notes down. “I see,” He put his pen against his lips, slightly surprised that his problem didn’t involve his job. “What do you think could have caused these dreams?”

Gomez shrugged. “No idea. It wouldn’t be a big deal, if I didn’t wake up sweaty and out of breath.” He lied back against the couch, putting his arms behind his head.

“Well, from what I’ve seen, these dreams are probably happening for a reason. Has anything happened recently with your mother that may have caused this?”

“Nope. Not that I can think of.”

“Then maybe something more distant? Anything happen in the past between you and her?”

“Yeah, but nothing bad.” He smiled fondly. “Mama’s such a sweet woman. She took care of me for most of my childhood. I’d be dead without her.”

“How so?”

“Well, doc, I was a pretty sick kid.” He paused to take a drag from his cigar. “I’m surprised I’ve made it this far, with how often I was ill.”

“What did you have?”

“Bronchitis, along with a few allergies. Flowers, weeds, grass,” He paused to count the allergies he didn’t name on his hands until he ran out of fingers. “Heh, I was allergic to a lot of things.

“And I’m assuming your mother took care of you most of the time?”

“Yes!” Gomez responded excitedly, sitting up in his seat. “She did whatever she could to make sure I was comfortable. She served me good food, checked up on me to make sure I was alright, she’d even stay with me until I fell asleep most nights.”

“Sounds like the perfect mother.” Horvitz mumbled absentmindedly as he scribbled on the pad.

“Oh, she is, she really is. You know, I’m a mama’s boy at heart. Always have been.” His smile faltered, and he glanced to look out the window. “I’m gonna miss her.”

“Oh, did she… pass on?”

“Hmm? Oh no, no, no! She just moved out of our house today. Put herself in an old folks home. A good friend of hers lives there, and she didn’t wanna pass up the opportunity to catch up.”

“Ah, I see.” The room fell silent shortly after that. Horvitz inwardly sighed at the lack of progress. They were already thirty minutes in, another half hour to go. He clicked his pen, hoping he would solve his dream problem in one session so he wouldn’t have to see this blabbermouth more than once. As luck would have it, Gomez opened his mouth.

“You know what’s the strangest thing about her, doc?” His voice was a bit quieter, almost hesitant.

“What?”

“I was always hoping that my disease would go away. And for a while, it felt like it did.” He threw his cigar on the carpet and stamped on it, earning a defeated sigh from the therapist. “But whenever Mama was around me, I could always feel the symptoms coming back.”

Horvitz looked up, eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, you’d only have symptoms when she was around?”

“It was really unusual. When she’d leave me alone, either to do her own thing or to run errands, I could feel myself becoming well again. The coughing would cease, my throat would clear up, and I’d be fine.” He put a hand to his neck, as if checking to see if it came back.

“Can you think of any reasons for that?”

“Not at the moment, no. But I know it was always the worst right after meals.”

“Right after meals?”

Gomez chuckled, a twinge of annoyance in his tone. “You sure are a broken record. But, yes. Mama’s such a kind lady, cooking me any food I wanted. Baked iguana, charred salamander, eel pudding.” He licked his lips, while Horvitz shuddered in disgust. “But right after I’d eat whatever she made me, the coughing, the sputtering, and everything else would come back full force.”

By now, his note taking has gotten much speedier, and he jotted down what he could. This was getting interesting. A semblance of an idea formed in the back of his head, as his eyes tore away from his writing. “You keep saying that you had all these issues. I’m assuming it went away.” The other man responded with a nod. “But… how?”

Gomez looked up and sighed dreamily. “Ahhh, it all went away the moment I met my beautiful wife, Morticia.” He stared at the ceiling with a face so lovestruck Horvitz could practically see his eyes glazing over. “We were playing with the trains together, and we both had the most brilliant idea to make them crash.” The therapist nodded in affirmation, as if he could understand a word of what he was saying. “And once they did, the words ‘c’est merveilleux’ left her pretty lips. And once I had heard that sweet French, it just… went away.”

A hearty laugh was heard from Horvitz, but he soon quieted once he saw Gomez wasn’t laughing with him. “Hold on a moment, you actually think French cured your bronchitis?”

“Well, of course! What else could it be?” He sounded so sure, so certain. Too certain.

“Mr. Addams, have you ever considered that maybe you never had bronchitis in the first place?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Have you ever heard of Munchausen by proxy?”

“Muncha-what now?”

“Well, it’s a mental disorder where-”

“That name reminds me of my Aunt Munchies,” Gomez interrupted, causing Horvitz to let out a frustrated groan. “The old girl used to eat like her life depended on it. She’s in a better place now.” His annoyance melted as soon as he heard that.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“No need for sorries, she’s doing alright. Rumor has it she’s one of the best fat ladies in the circus now.”

And just like that, the anger came back. “Mr. Addams, please get back on track.” He pushed his glasses up and let out a deep breath. “Munchausen by proxy is when a caregiver makes up or causes an illness to the person in their care. It’s not very common, but I believe your mother may have had it.”

Now it was Gomez’s turn to laugh. “That’s a bunch of bull feathers. There isn’t any proof.”

“It makes sense if you put all the pieces together. How would your mother prepare your food?”

“Oh, well first, she’d set the oven to about three hundred and fifty degrees, then she’d take the salamander out of the freezer-”

“What I meant to say was,” He gritted his teeth. “Did your mother ever do anything weird with your food?”

“Nope.” He said, popping the p. “After she was done cooking it, she’d put a few drops of my medicine onto it.”

“Medicine, what medicine?”

“Medicine she always had on her. Home remedy, I assume. Maybe a potion.” Horvitz tried his very best not to react to that last comment.

“Did you always feel sick after you ate her food?”

Gomez nodded. “Mhm, but once I had grown out of Mama’s cooking, my symptoms dropped altogether. Once my butler, Lurch, started cooking for me and my family, I never felt sick at all.” At this point, the therapist had to take out another notepad, tossing the filled one onto the table.

“Was there anything else she would do?”

“Let’s see… she’d never let me leave the house without a jacket. No matter the weather.”

“And why was that?”

“To keep my bronchial tubes warm.” He stated matter-of-factly, raising a finger.

“Was that the only reason?”

“She was also afraid I’d get hurt. She always said I was a fragile growing boy. Didn’t want to take a chance. Said I needed the extra protection.”

“Do you still leave the house without a heavy coat?”

“Not since my bronchitis went away. I tell ya, doc, French does wonders to the body.”

Horvitz sighed heavily. “Mr. Addams, with all due respect, there are no records to say that foreign languages can cure such diseases.” For the first time since he walked into the office, Gomez frowned.

“What are you trying to say here?” The offense in his voice made the therapist shiver. The dumb ones were always the most violent when upset.

He gulped. “I still think your mother may have Munchausen by proxy. She fits just enough criteria to be diagnosed as such.”

“My mother would never,” He pointed an accusatory finger. “Make me sick on purpose.”

“But it all makes sense! She was making you sick with her ‘medicine,’ being overprotective of you, making you protect yourself from dangers that weren’t even there. And on top of that, you felt right as rain once she stopped tending to you. I just think that she might’ve been a bit harmful.”

“Oh, really? Well, I think this session was a waste of time.” Gomez huffed, pulling out a wad of bills from his pocket and slamming it onto the table. “Thanks for trying to help, doc. I’ll just make these dreams go away myself.” He stormed out of the office, leaving the door open. Horvitz tried following, instead sticking his head into the hallway and yelling out after him.

“And don’t come back, you salamander-eating, cousin-shrinking loon!”

_______________

The drive home was especially quiet. Lurch didn’t bother asking why Gomez slammed the car door so hard when entering. Nor did he ask why he was mumbling incoherent nonsense into his sleeve as they drove. The only words he had heard him say was a simple ‘take me home’ before he hopped in. And he did so, giving an affirmative grunt before driving him to the house. He watched as he angrily stomped to the front door, fumbling with the doorbell for a few minutes before he realized that this was, in fact, his house, and sheepishly took out his key and unlocked the door, letting himself in. Lurch groaned and followed soon after, silently hoping that Gomez’s frustrations would go away soon.

Morticia jumped as she heard the door slam, pausing her knitting and looking over her shoulder. “Gomez? How was your trip to the psychiatrist?”

“About as pleasant as a walk through a sunny field.” He winced at the very thought. “That Horvitz man has no idea what he’s talking about.” Morticia’s eyes followed him as he paced the room.

“What happened, darling?”

“He kept trying to convince me that Mama was some sick person that fed me poison and made me ill.”

She clutched her chest. “How vile! What made him think that?”

Gomez simply looked at the floor, a defeated look in his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m all riled up.”

“Oh, darling. It’s only a foolish mental-man who thinks he can pick apart everyone’s brain. Don’t be so upset over that,” She gave him a devilish smile. “Bubele.”

And just like that, her husband practically glided over to her, placing kiss after kiss along her arm. “Tish,” He uttered breathlessly. “You know just how to cheer me up.”

She petted his cheek. “Come, mon cher, lie on the couch. I’ll play with your hair while you tell me all about your day.”

“Only if you promise to pull it!” 

And so they sat there for a good long while, Gomez’s head in his wife’s lap while she ran her fingers through his hair, occasionally tugging, much to his delight. He calmed down indefinitely, his irritated expression soon melting under her touch. He still threw in a few sour insults about the no good therapist and his accusations. 

“It was just so crazy.” He mumbled after a bit of silence.

“What was, love?”

“That he thought Mama had that Munchausen crap.” He threw his arms out and looked up. “Can’t he just understand that I was cured because of your wonderful French?”

“Such an odd man.” She leaned in to kiss his forehead. “Oh, darling, before I forget, Mama left you some food before she left. She cooked it herself, said it was just for you.”

His eyes lit up at the mention of his mother. “Where?”

“In the dining room. It’s one of your favorites.” Hearing this, he leapt out of her arms and sprinted towards the dining room, nearly knocking Morticia off the couch. She chuckled at his excitement, and went off to check on her plants.

_______________

“Ah-ha!” He spotted the silver cloche in the center of the dinner table, and hastily took it off. His mouth watered at the sight of the grilled alligator tail before him, and it took all his strength to not dig in with his bare hands. Taking a seat at the table, he hurriedly tucked a napkin into his suit, grabbed a nearby fork, and dug in.

Alligator tail was a big favorite of his, as he had been eating it ever since he was a boy. Mama cooked it for him every Friday, and it was so good he had found himself marking every Friday on his boy scout calendar, scrawling ‘alli tail day’ in his childish handwriting. Eating it now, it tasted just as good as it was when he was younger. Mama truly was the best cook he knew. Though there was a bittersweetness to it; he couldn’t get Dr. Horvitz’s words out of his head. What kind of person did he think he was, accusing such a generous woman of being someone she wasn’t? Gomez knew in his heart that his mother was one of the most pleasant people he’s ever met. She made him happy, and that was all that mattered.

So happy, in fact, that when a sudden coughing fit arose shortly after his meal, he only smiled.

It reminded him so much of home.

**Author's Note:**

> Tried taking a stab at writing something Gomez-centric. Wish we could've seen more of his childhood in the show. Thanks for reading!


End file.
